


In It For the Long Haul

by BeaRyan



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stole her ship, she shot him, and then things really got interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In It For the Long Haul

His kiss is soft and gentle, mushy like applesauce when she’d expected crisp fruit straight from the tree. Maybe this works for other girls, and he seems confident in his approach so it probably does, but this slow, swampy press is weaving between boring and disgusting for her. 

She’s had worse. 

Yalena learned years ago to slam off her emotions and focus on the pleasures of the flesh. Dance to please the husband you want to catch, fuck to please the husband you want to keep, kill to protect what's yours. 

This strange boy who stole her ship and smiles too much isn’t like that. He’s a fan of rash decisions, but he wants permission and praise to go with them. Had she given him permission for this kiss? Well, she hadn’t shot him - again - when she caught him staring at her chest. For this eager-to-please barely-a-man with hormones where his sense should be that was probably enough. 

Unfortunately for him, she’s about to end this little tongue quest. Permission to come aboard denied. 

He stops kissing her, leaning in even closer. He has one hand on either side of her head and may just be stupid enough to think he has her pinned to the wall. His breath is hot against her neck when he speaks. “Look, I can tell the sugar pants thing isn’t working, but I won’t last in jail, if I go back to Marcobi without a ship he’ll kill me, and if you drop me back home Jarby will take my arm for not paying my father’s debts. I can’t fix things with just one arm, and if I can’t fix things I can’t make enough to eat. I’m a good mechanic. A decent thief. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” 

He’s raw and honest and if she kicks him out the door onto Westerly on his own he can add one more town to the list of places he won’t make it. “Maybe I should just shoot you,” she says. 

“You already did,” he answers. “Stunned me, didn’t kill me, which tells me you don’t want to kill me. Tell me what you do want and I’ll do it.” 

A mechanic offering free work? The answer is easy. “Fix my long haul septic system. It’s six weeks work, it’s been broken for two years, and it’s going to be disgusting.”

He doesn’t answer for a minute and she thinks he’s going to say no, maybe even fight physically. His mistake if he does. 

When he finally speaks he sounds like he’s about to cry. “A long haul system? You’re really going to let me work on an honest to God deep space vessel?” His arms slip around her, drawing her in with a warmth she can’t remember ever feeling from a lover. This is a hug, not an embrace or a clench, not a prelude to anything but a statement unto itself. 

She lets her arms wrap around him, cautiously returning the gesture. It’s like speaking a foreign language, saying thank you before you even understand what you’ve been given. She releases him, steps away, and tries to put the familiar wrapper of sarcasm on this strange encounter. “Well you stole an honest to God deep space vessel.” 

“I did? She just looked like a moon hopper.”

“She’s supposed to.” 

“I could help you rev up the engines,” he offers. “Really get her up to speed.” 

It’s an odd thing for him to say. There’s already a hard limit in Lucy’s programming that keeps her from doing her max. That form of travel hasn’t been discovered in this part of the J yet. “How much faster would you like to go?” she asks. 

“Well, I picked her up on Kimo and then she locked down on me for four hours, so I figure we’re on Kellisk. You should be able to make that run in 3:15.” 

“You’re on Westerly.” 

“Where’s Westerly?”

“The Quad.” 

“The Quad?!? You got me out of K Clump?” He’s beaming a smile that would suit a child in a holiday film and his arms fly up around her again, pulling her in, squeezing with a sort of ready affection that overwhelms her in a way that violence doesn’t. His words are muffled as he speaks them into her hair, and this time she’s certain he’s crying as he murmurs, “Thank you. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
